Kiss and Tell
by Thnx4theGum
Summary: A "What if..." look at how B&B MIGHT have had to talk about that infamous mistletoe kiss- and why they might not mention it to this day. Will try to stay in canon.
1. Chapter 1

**For doctorsuez who just HAD to ask "What if...."**

**

* * *

**"_The true man wants two things: danger and play. For that reason he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything." –Friedrich Nietzsche_

She had been in the country for forty-six hours. He knew this because the same buddy who had tipped him to her arrival in the States three years ago still helped him keep tabs on her flights. He also knew that it had been thirty long days since he'd last set eyes on her. Through barbed wire, a conjugal trailer window, and a rare December snowfall in DC. When she'd gasped at tree he'd hooked up to his SUV and told him that she loved his gift.

A part of him had hoped that that would be enough to keep her in the country but of course it hadn't and she'd taken off early the next morning, promising that they would exchange gifts when she arrived home. They had talked a few times while she was gone just to touch base. She'd asked him about Parker and he'd asked if she was eating right and getting enough sleep. On their last call she'd informed him that Angela would be picking her up from the airport so that he wouldn't be put out. It'd been on the tip of his tongue to tell her that he'd put out anything for her, but as always he'd kept that tidbit to himself just in case it would scare her off.

Yesterday, had been pure torture; knowing that she was coming home and not being sure how long he should wait before showing up on her doorstep with an armful of Wong Fu's. "Just partners might wait a few days- or at least until the jet lag wore off- but "just partners" who spent more of their waking time together than apart and readily agreed to play tonsil hockey in order to secure a merry Christmas for one partner's dad that the other partner had put in jail? Well, that wasn't exactly covered in _Dear Abby_ and given his partner's martial arts training he didn't feel like pushing the issue.

He looked at his watch. Two whole minutes had passed and it had felt like an eternity. His finger hovered over the speed dial button that would connect him to her instantly, then just as quickly snapped his phone shut. A second later he inwardly cursed his cowardice and made the damn call. It rang through to voicemail.

It took him a little bit to dig her home number out of his phone's address book since he rarely called her thereand he frowned when that too went through to her answering machine. Next, he called her office, swearing that if she was at work he'd physically pick her up and drag her out no matter how much she kicked and screamed.

"Hello?" a familiar voice that was not Bones answered.

"Hi Angela," he said hesitantly, "is, uh, Bones there?"

"She's at home," Angela sounded oddly amused, which never made him feel at ease. "Hey, how's that sore throat of yours from the other week doing?"

"Um, fine, thanks," he answered really not sure he should be without knowing why she was asking. "Is Bones okay? She's not picking up her cell or at her house."

"Oh, don't worry your head off, Prince Charming, Sleeping Beauty will be just fine. But Booth," he could hear the smirk in her voice and felt his gut sink before she even spoke, "when she gets better I _am_ gonna grill her on how you and she both ended up with mono at the same time."

* * *

**If you want to know more, just leave a review right there **

**Plz;thnx;Gum :)**


	2. Chapter 2

"_The most important thing in a relationship between a man and a woman is that one of them must be good at taking orders." –Linda Festa_

There are two things that every good Catholic boy develops young: a respect for women and a healthy guilt complex. Booth was a good Catholic boy, so on his way to her apartment his mind was divided between worry for his partner who was rarely ever sick and guilt for being the one who infected her. He should've seen this coming a mile away.

_About four weeks earlier._

"Are you feeling alright?" she asked, the concern evident in her voice despite the hundreds of miles that separated them. "You sound like excrement; metaphorically speaking, of course."

His laugh caught in his throat and came out as a hacking cough that barely left his lungs in his chest.

"You should see your primary care physician," Bones' voice crackled over the line.

"I'm fine," he croaked. "How are things in Bora Bora?"

He could almost hear her eyes rolling at the phone but the question worked because she forgot all about his cough and started lecturing him on where she was and what she was doing. He leaned back on his pillow, smiling. He might have picked up the cough in Vermont, but overall it hadn't turned out to be the rotten Christmas he thought it would; though he still could've gone without the sniffing Santa butts part.

Over the next hour he listened while she dominated the conversation, occasionally pausing to ask him something or tell him to go to the doctor. Finally, he couldn't stay up any longer so he let her know before he fell asleep on her. There was definitely more than a hint of disappointment when he told her but after one last violent coughing jag she changed her tone, ordering him to bed.

The next morning his throat was even worse and his head felt like he'd spent the first day of summer at Chucky Cheese. The cold didn't help anything, especially when he found that the Christmas snow had melted into slush then refrozen overnight. After a few pointless hours staring at paperwork at the Hoover he gave up and sought medical advice.

"You look like crap," Cam said, eyeing him up and down when he walked into her office.

"I've been getting that a lot," he grumbled. "Look, you still have your license, right? So you can get me some drugs to kick this thing?"

"Uh uh," Cam shook her head decisively. "I am not your personal pharmacy. You wanna see me, you better come through that door with a toe tag."

"Aw, com'on, Camille," he whined between coughs, "cut a guy a break."

"No can do, Seeley. What is it with men and doctors?"

"Hey, I'm here aren't I?" he tried to muster a charm smile.

"Come back in a week or two and I'll give you the best Y-incision in town," she smirked. "I'm sure you'll need it by then."

"You see dead people," he grumbled, "got it."

"And to ensure that you do I'm going to get back to work now," she said, lowering her face mask and starting up one of her saws as she turned to the current body on her slab.

He got out of the morgue in a hurry and started wandering around the lab aimlessly. He yawned, trying not to think about how much he'd tossed and turned the night before, and found himself outside of her office. The fact that she wasn't there didn't mean that her couch was any less inviting, he thought to himself as he jimmied the lock and let himself in.

He slipped off his sneakers, pulling the blanket off of the back of the couch and enveloping himself in the scent that was his partner and closed his eyes.

Soft laughter lured him back to consciousness and for a moment he thought maybe she'd come back early to take care of him.

"Hey, Studly," Angela's grin met him as he slowly pulled himself up, "missing something? Or some_one_?"

"Time is it?" he rubbed his eyes, hating the fact that there were no windows in Bones' office.

"Time for you to leave for your appointment," she offered a sympathetic smile. "Cam set you up and sent me to find you when you didn't answer your cell. Did you have sweet dreams?"

Booth hid any real answer behind a glare and a coughing jag. Her eyebrows rose, but he was coughing again and when he looked back up she had left.

_Present day_

Booth smirked to himself, remembering how he'd spent three hours in the waiting room and had not been pleased when they started sucking his blood to run tests on; complaining that if they weren't careful, they'd turn him into a vampire. The doc had shined his flashlight and choked him with a cotton swab before sending him off with a prescription and instructions not to go to work the next day.

And now here he was, standing outside of her apartment armed with a tub full of her favorite frozen yogurt and some movies for them to watch, wondering how in the world he was going to own up to giving her the kissing disease and _almost _hoping that she was too sick to kick him in the testicles for it.

* * *

**Thanks for all the great feedback! I'm having fun with this campy piece and in the meantime, I found my Blue muse so be looking for an update soon there.**

**Gum :)**


	3. Chapter 3

"_A friend is one with whom you are comfortable, to whom you are loyal, through whom you are blessed, and for whom you are grateful." –William Arthur Ward_

For all the time he spent contemplating her reactions outside of her door, it was rather anti-climactic when he ended up having to let himself in after she didn't answer.

"Bones!" he called, eyes adjusting to the dim light. "Knock, knock, anybody home?"

He put the frozen yogurt in the freezer and set the movies on the counter. She wasn't in either the kitchen or the living room, which meant that locating her was going to involve a serious breach of her personal space; not that that had stopped him in the past.

His head shot up as a low moan issued from the back of the apartment and he covered the distance quickly, listening for it again. When it came he breathed a small sigh of relief that it was coming from her bathroom, not her bedroom. The bathroom door was slightly ajar and definitely where the noise was coming from and it didn't take him long to decide that he was going in whether she was fully dressed or not.

His heart clenched at the sight of her shadowy figured curled up beside the toilet, obviously in pain. He flicked on the light.

"Turn it off! Turn it off!" she yelled immediately, shielding her eyes.

He did. Quickly. Cursing himself for causing her more pain.

"What are you doing here, Booth?" she groaned, looking up at him.

"A little birdie told me you were sick," he offered a smile.

"Your avian informant should also have told you that I am more than capable of caring for myself," she shook her head, voice lacking its normal edge.

"Chose that comfy seat yourself, did you?" he gestured to the hard floor where she'd obviously been curled up for some time.

"Go away, Booth."

"No can do, Bones," it was his turn to shake his head. "I got you into this so I'll help you out of it. Besides, it's what partners do."

Fortunately, she was too incoherent to follow his line of reasoning and within a couple of minutes, allowed him to help her to her feet.

"Couch or bed, Bones?" he asked.

"Couch," she managed, coughing every bit as badly as he had.

He grabbed a blanket from her linen closet on their way out, glad to see her moving under her own power. Watching carefully to make sure she didn't fall, he shut out the fact that her damp camisole and soft grey yoga pants left little to his imagination and helped lower her down on the couch, covering her with the light blanket.

"You're burning up, Bones," he said softly, brushing his fingers ever so lightly across her forehead. "Got any aspirin around here?"

"Bag," she pointed at the shoulder bag she toted back and forth to the lab before she turned away from him to cough loudly again, head falling back to rest on the couch's arm with her eyes closed.

"Right," he murmured, hoping she wasn't one of those women who kept their whole lives in their purse.

He dug aground and found it then headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. On the counter by the fridge he found a bottle of prescription pills, along with what looked like a log of when she had taken them.

"Looks like it's time for your medicine," he said when he returned, handing her the pills and a glass of water.

She tossed everything in her mouth and chased it down with one big gulp of water, wincing at the fiery pain it cost her. He watched her try to get comfortable again and slipped away to hunt up her pillow. In the bedroom he found her blankets in heaps beside her bed where she'd flung them off and on. Once he'd delivered her pillow and made sure she didn't need anything else he went back to her room, stripping the damp sheets off and remaking it with the efficiency of a man who'd never failed a bunk inspection.

He threw the sheets along with her discarded clothes into the hamper in her washer and started it before moving on to the bathroom. He took a deep breath and flicked the light on again, nearly gagging in the process. The floor told him she hadn't been 100% accurate in her aim and the stench from the un-flushed commode made him double over.

Another moan from the living room sent him running and he spent the next few minutes dabbing her forehead with a wet washcloth and murmuring softly to her. When she fell back asleep he armed himself with every cleaning product in her house and went to tackle the bathroom. An hour later he had finished cleaning, taken a quick shower himself, and went to check on his patient.

Her fever had finally broken and she was sleeping peacefully so he let her, busying himself by putting her clothes into the dryer and cleaning the few dishes he found in her sink.

"Booth?" he heard her weak call.

"Hey, Bones," he smiled as he watched her sit up, color returning to her pale cheeks. "Feeling better?"

"Yes, thank you," she nodded. "What are you doing here?"

"Angela told me that you were sick so I, erm, came over to see if you needed any help," he rubbed a hand through his hair.

"I have the Epstein-Barr virus more commonly known as mononucleosis," she said matter-of-factly. "My symptoms first surfaced two weeks ago and are only now beginning to abate."

"This is abating?" he cocked an eyebrow.

"My trip was not pleasant," she frowned.

"And you're sure it's mono?" he asked.

"Yes," anger flared in her eyes and she crossed her arms. "I'm quite capable of diagnosing myself, though if you are still in doubt there's this-"

Before he knew what was happening, she was pulling up her shirt and giving him a full frontal view of herself whether he wanted it or not. What caught his eye before he managed to look away, though, was the angry red rash covering the majority of her skin.

"What the hell is that?" he asked as he started to pace so he wouldn't be tempted to take a second look. "And how's about putting your shirt down now, okay?"

"That," she said in a cranky voice, thankfully lowering her shirt, "is the product of a reaction between the mononucleosis and the amoxicillin prescribed to me by the Peruvian doctor for strep throat."

"Remind me not to go to Peru," he joked.

She frowned, "It had nothing to do with what country I was in. Doctors quite frequently misdiagnose it at first. The ensuing rash, however, made it quite clear what happened."

"I'm sorry," he stopped pacing and faced her.

"No need," she shrugged, "Most likely I contracted it from either Hailey or Emma around the time of our Christmas celebration. Though I would advise you not to drink from the same cup as me for the time being."

"I'm not the one who's always stealing people's food," he winked, then shifted his weight trying to figure out how to tell her the truth.

"What's wrong, Booth?" she tilted her head. "You're acting very oddly and you still haven't told me why you felt you needed to come tend for me- which I don't need, by the way."

He cleared his throat, "Um, look, Bones, do you know what other name mono goes by?"

"The Epstein-Barr virus," she nodded, confused. "I told you that."

"Yeah, you did," he said quickly. "But it's also known as the 'kissing disease' and, well, I didn't have the best start to the New Year either health wise."

Surprise dawned on her face as his words registered and she responded with a single word: "Oh."


	4. Chapter 4

"_The worst lies are the lies we tell ourselves. We live in denial of what we do, even what we think. We do this because we're afraid. We fear we will not find love, and when we find it we fear we'll lose it." –Richard Bach_

Their eyes meet, connecting as she utters a single syllable, and suddenly there is nothing more to say. She supposes she could become angry and blame him for making her annual holiday retreat an utter failure, but to a larger extent this predicament is her fault as she was the one who grabbed and kissed him in the first place. Of course, he had been the one to slip his tongue into her mouth, capturing the gum he had declined just seconds earlier and prompting her to respond with equal ardor.

Either way, the truth is now unavoidable, and all of the emotions play out between them without a word being spoken. Slowly, she nods, accepting both that she now understands his compulsive need to care for her this time and that any further attempts to dissuade him will be denied, and at the same time agreeing that their feelings are a topic they will not discuss. She allows him to "make" her eat the frozen yogurt he bought and laughs along with him at the pre-adolescent adventure movie he has brought; though she thinks it highly unlikely that pirates would have buried treasure in Oregon and finds several disturbing inaccuracies with the skeletal remains that the children encounter. When the movie is over, he makes sure she takes another dose of the oral steroid for her rash and instructs her to call if she needs anything further even though they both know she will not.

She eventually recovers and life goes on and the list of things that they do not talk about begins to grow: the double date they both enjoyed going on with Sweets, the shared cabin he envisioned complete with a large television, the utter agony she went through when she thought he was dead. Denial covers them like a warm blanket, that invisible line protecting them from ruining what neither one of them can live without.

Years pass and the shared moments come and go and they slowly evolve. He becomes more open, letting her into the darkest corners of his life that he has hidden from others. She becomes more trusting, developing a faith in him that makes her wonder if perhaps the reasoned arguments that she has had in place since she was fifteen warrant re-evaluation and change. He dreams of a life with her by his side raising a family while she keeps vigil, writing of burdens that will allow them to fly. And the dance goes on, and the Christmases come and go.

"Thanks for the party, Bones," he tells her long after her other guests have left. "You did a good thing celebrating Christmas for your cousin."

She thinks about Margret's advice and says softly, "I didn't do it for her."

Eyebrows rise over chocolate brown eyes, searching for the true meaning behind her words. "No?"

Her teeth unconsciously capture her bottom lip as she shakes her head.

"I didn't want you to be alone for Christmas," she explains, "to think that you weren't…"

Their eyes meet and he realizes what she is telling him and he places a calloused finger on her lips before stepping forward and capturing them with his own. She is as warm and soft as he remembers and he revels in the sensation of tasting and being tasted. Her mind wonders for a brief second if this kiss is the carrier of a disease like the last one, but pushes the thought aside; knowing that if it is they will care for one another just as they always have. Denial crashes down around them and they let it fall along with the line that was never really necessary.

His kisses stray off of her mouth, following her jaw line until they reach her ear, "I love you too, Bones."

FIN.

* * *

**Thanks again to doctorsuez for the idea and the medical advice. Hope this was the non-cliche flu-fic she was hoping for. I had fun and I thank you all for joining me on the ride and reviewing as we went. See, it wasn't that hard, was it? ;) **

**Ah well, it'll be weeks 'til we'll see a new Bones so I know they'll be more of these little tales to come until then; though even the most obsessed writer will take a break for Christmas. (gotta carve out time to watch Booth- I mean _Bones_- on Blu-ray, ya know)**

**Merry Christmas to all (and Happy Festivus for the rest)!**

**Gum :)**


End file.
